Chapter Eight: The First Touch
722 Words
Kaelan
Three days passed.
Three days of careful distance. Three days of learning each other like strangers on a first date, except the stakes were infinitely higher. Kaelan learned that Elara hummed while she read. That she always folded her napkin into a swan before she left the table. That she had a small, secret smile she only showed when she thought no one was watching.
He also learned that she was terrified of him.
Not of his anger—she had faced that and survived. But of his gentleness. Every time he pulled out her chair, every time he remembered to bring her tea without being asked, every time he gave her space instead of crowding her, she looked at him like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It broke his heart.
On the third night, a storm rolled in.
Kaelan was in his study when the first thunder cracked, so loud that the windows rattled. He thought nothing of it—storms were common this time of year—until he heard a soft, broken sound from down the hall.
A whimper.
He was on his feet and moving before he made a conscious decision. The doors between their quarters were unlocked now—by her request, not his—and he found her in the doorway of her bedroom, pressed against the wall, her hands over her ears.
She was shaking.
"Elara." He stopped a few feet away, giving her space. "It's just thunder. You're safe."
"I know." Her voice was muffled behind her hands. "I know it's stupid. I'm not afraid of storms. I'm afraid of—" Another c***k of thunder, closer this time, and she flinched so hard her teeth clicked together.
Kaelan understood.
She wasn't afraid of the storm. She was afraid of what the storm represented. Darkness. Chaos. Loss.
"May I touch you?" he asked.
Her hands lowered slightly. She looked at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. "What?"
"I'm asking permission. To touch you. I won't do anything you don't want. But sometimes—" He chose his next words carefully. "Sometimes when the world is loud, having someone solid helps."
Elara stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded.
Kaelan closed the distance between them. He didn't grab her. Didn't pull her against him. He simply sat down on the floor beside her, back against the wall, and held out his hand.
"You can take it or not," he said. "No pressure."
She took his hand.
Her fingers were cold and trembling. He wrapped his hand around hers gently, not squeezing, just… holding. Grounding.
"I was six," she said, her voice barely audible over the rain. "When my parents died. There was a rogue attack. My father shoved my mother and me into the cellar and locked the door. I heard everything. The fighting. The screaming. The thunder—it sounded like that. Like the world was ending."
Kaelan's chest constricted. "How did you survive?"
"Liam. He was fifteen. He broke down the cellar door after the rogues left and carried me out. I didn't speak for three months." She laughed bitterly. "I was a broken thing. And he fixed me as best he could."
"Elara." Kaelan turned toward her, still holding her hand. "You are not broken. You are a survivor. There's a difference."
She looked at him. Really looked, for the first time since the tarmac.
"Why are you being so gentle?" she whispered. "You were a monster three days ago. And now you're—" She gestured at him, at the floor, at their joined hands. "This."
"Because I was a monster," he said. "And I don't want to be anymore."
Thunder cracked again. Elara flinched, but this time, she didn't cover her ears. She squeezed his hand.
"Stay," she said. "Just until the storm passes."
Kaelan stayed.
They sat on the floor together for hours, hands intertwined, while the storm raged outside and the world reset itself around them. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to.
When the rain finally stopped and the first grey light of dawn crept through the windows, Elara leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Kaelan pressed his lips to her hair—the lightest, briefest kiss, asking for nothing.
"Always," he said.
- Writer
